


The nonsensical ramblings of an amateur poet

by KneecapYeeter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Poetry, Boredom, Stuff, sleep is for the weak
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:02:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KneecapYeeter/pseuds/KneecapYeeter
Summary: A dumping ground for all my bad poetry, mostly written at ungodly times of the night. Ratings may change depending on how depressing they get.I might add explanations for my thought process, might not. Depends on how stupid the poetry is.
Kudos: 2





	1. The crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corona translates to Crown, which just sounds super cool and fancy. As a ‘burden’ that passes from person to person it seemed only a step away from a royal bloodline that gets passed down, hence this.

As a king lays in his deathbed, sick and festering,

He battles hopelessly against that which threatens to drag him beyond.

A life well spent, he thinks to himself,

Though he has one final task.

The king has a son, brave and bold,

Unshakeable in his loyalty, stays by his father’s bedside even now.

A fine ruler he is destined to be

The best candidate for the crown.

  
Though his voice is hoarse and worn

With his time swiftly running out,

A dying man turns to his son for the very last time

To speak once more, resolute and with no doubt.

“You shall be the greatest king

And make me ever so proud.

Travel far and wide for all to behold

And spread the crown’s message, say it loud.

  
“This is the end of my reign

This is the beginning of a new era.

I hereby pass the throne down to you and trust that you will

Fulfill our duty to the crown.”


	2. Mortality, a gift from time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seconds tick by and we are wasting them.

Time passes

Whether we like it or not.

A steady drumbeat

As we are left to rot.

Relentless and unforgiving

A spider’s web in which we are caught.

Time passes

For better or for worse.

It cares not for our petty whims

Indifference a blessing or a curse.

The only order in our chaos

The only constant in an ever-changing universe.

Time passes

Months and years in a flash.

Humanity never changes

Still violent and so pitifully brash.

Our clever toys a self-fulfilling prophecy

We reduce ourselves to little more than ash.

Time passes

It does not care at all.

Too disconnected from the mortals’ cries

It leaves us each to fall.

Destruction and discord and despair and death

Merely keeps its distance behind a wall.

Times passes

It is the reaper’s dearest friend.

We lose ourselves to madness and age

No helping hand will they extend.

We wither and grow useless far too soon

While they do nothing to prevent the end.

Time passes

A constant, however unpleasant.

It can cripple us on a careless whim

Or it can heal our wounds as a rare present.

It sees us as weak and not worthy of note

Looks down on us as a lord to a peasant.

Time passes

So why do we try to fight?

We struggle aimlessly to fight the current

Pleading to something that cares not for our plight.

And yet we still deny the truth

Our mortality is seen as shackles preventing flight.

Time passes

And we should just accept that it is so.

Rather than searching the shadows for a door

We should create a fiery glow.

Defy death and defy time all you want

But first you must accept that, one day,

you will need to let it all go.


End file.
